Saxophonist Marshall Allen is now 100 years old.  And he's still playing music.  He's still finding harmony, he's still finding rhythm.  He's still playing with the chords of human creativity.  It's remarkable.

    Creativity is a fascinating phenomenon.  Difficult to fathom, difficult to define.  Are humans uniquely creative?  In some ways, yes; in others, no:  creativity is the fabric of the cosmos.

    I recently had a conversation with a person who, although he believes in God, has trouble accepting that he is truth.  I get that.  Yet she also observed that unless there is a God, we cannot explain why we are the way we are.  For instance, we both noted, is creativity a work of immateriality?

    Hardly.  If so, from where does it come?

    Marshall Allen is living proof of creativity's utterly divine mystery.